The Countdown (The Taking) (21 page)

EVEN BEFORE THE GLASS DOORS OF THE ELEVATOR slid open to the main level, it was obvious something serious was going down.

This was not the same tranquil operation we’d toured just two days earlier with Dr. Clarke.

Bedlam had erupted.

Jett strolled right into the strictly off-limits, you-need-high-level-clearance, heart of the operation. There were more people now—some wearing ordinary lab gear or uniforms, some dressed in regular street clothes, and a few fully suited in biohazard gear.

But it was the pace that was unsettling. Frenzied. Hectic. It was the only way to describe the nervous energy—everyone scurrying from one place to the next, almost as if no one was quite sure where they should be. Just that they needed to be
somewhere
. Furtive whispers and agitated shouts filled the air.

The chaos triggered my claustrophobia and, as if I hadn’t considered it before, all at once I was keenly aware of our location: beneath about a million or so tons of rock-solid mountain. If this mountain caved in on us, we were dead meat for sure. There’d be no coming back from that.

Dr. Clarke spotted us and waved eagerly from above the turmoil. Whatever she’d been doing before was momentarily forgotten as she sprinted—no kidding, she
sprinted!
—across the lab to meet us.

The entire way up here, I’d been aggressively ignoring both Simon and Tyler. I was annoyed that they’d made me feel like the rope in their stupid tug-of-war.

Tyler wasn’t the only one who could play the “I need time” card, and if neither of them could understand that, then it was their loss.

I’d kept as much distance between us as I could manage, even while we’d been crammed into the tiny glass elevator. I went out of my way to avoid looking at them, and when they talked to each other, which, apparently, was a thing they did now, I pretended I was deaf to them.

But Simon was Simon, which meant he couldn’t help himself. So he kept up a steady, one-way stream of rambling
conversation the entire way. He wasn’t the leave-well-enough-alone type. Instead, he mentioned how awkward things were, like it was all one big joke, and he told Tyler if he’d only waited a few seconds longer, he might actually have walked in on something interesting.

Then he elbowed him with a wink.

Awesome.

But Simon also hadn’t stopped watching me, and I knew he was worried I might double over again. Him and me both.

Having Jett there had been kind of a relief. His presence eased some of the uncomfortable tension eating away at our small group.

“Where are the others?” Simon asked Jett, when he realized it was just the four of us.

Jett nodded toward Dr. Clarke, who was eyeing Simon as she got closer. “They weren’t invited,” Jett answered. “Technically, neither were you or I, though. Dr. Clarke asked if she could get a look at the equipment we’d lifted from the asylum, so we were doing a kind of you-show-me-yours . . . That’s when the alert went up.”

But I had to question Jett’s objective in his little sharing game with Dr. Clarke. I’d never been sure which of his assets made him more indispensable to Simon’s team, his love of technology or his sticky fingers. Both meant they never lacked for spare computer parts.

“What kind of alert? And what does it have to do with me and Tyler?” I asked Dr. Clarke, glancing at the mayhem.

Dr. Clarke gestured to a nook away from the bustle, where hopefully we could talk in peace. “How certain are you,” she asked, “of your countdown?”

From the side of the room I looked around at all the people huddled over complex computer screens, analyzing what looked like graphs and data that went way over my head.

I thought about what Blondie had told me, about me being a countdown, and considered the numbers that continually replayed through my head. Then I thought about the pain I’d felt downstairs, in the hallway with Simon.

Was that what I’d felt? A change in the timeline?

“I . . . I don’t know. I thought I knew how long, but . . .” I shook my head, frowning. “I could have been wrong. Why?”

“We’ve picked up a signal.”

“Signal?” Jett asked. “What kind of signal are you talking about?”

“That’s the problem,” Dr. Clarke explained. “We’re not sure yet. We haven’t been able to decipher it. If it’s some kind of message, it’s buried in a narrow band frequency; similar to the ones SETI was transmitting in their search for extraterrestrial life. It’s as if whoever . . . or whatever is out there has been using our own signals to communicate back with us. Only this one’s been modified beyond recognition. Actually, this isn’t the first signal we’ve received. They’ve been coming in like clockwork. Each morning. Usually around dawn Pacific time.”

I froze as Tyler’s head snapped in my direction. Up until
a couple days ago, he was the only other person who knew what I’d been going through each morning, the only one I’d shared that bit of information with.

“So you already knew?” I repeated numbly. “That they were coming?”

“We knew transmissions were coming in, but we didn’t know why or what they meant. And that was before we knew about you. That was why we asked to monitor you. To see if the two were synchronized.”

“Were they?”

Dr. Clarke nodded, but it was a dismissive nod, like the answer was obvious to anyone paying attention. “Today, though, we received another transmission. This one came in on a different frequency, at any entirely different time of day. And when it did, Adam went crazy.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “Almost as if he
sensed
the transmission—”

“When?” Simon interrupted. “
When
did that happen?”

I slid my gaze to him, thinking the same thing he was.

She checked the clock on the wall while I glanced at Chuck’s watch on my wrist. “Twenty-three minutes ago,” I answered before she could open her mouth.

She looked at me. “So it is them?”

The waver in my voice was 100 percent reasonable under the circumstances. “If it is, why now?”

Jett crossed his arms impatiently. “You said Adam went crazy. He feels them too then?” He faced Dr. Clarke, clearly frustrated by the lack of information. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“You saw him,” she stated flatly, her expression neutral. “Do you think he’s in there because he wants to be?”

She waited for one of us to put two and two together, but it didn’t happen, at least not for me.

But Jett . . .

Jett was better at puzzles. At solving complex problems.

Understanding shattered his boyish features. “You think they’re here for him. To save him from you.”

My eyes widened. “Is Jett right? Is this some sort of rescue mission?” The idea that we might be caught in the middle of an alien hostage standoff was insane.

But Dr. Clarke was shaking her head. “No.” And then again she repeated, “
No
,” and I wondered who she was trying to convince—us or herself. “Trust me, Adam being here was strictly accidental.” But she was about as convincing as a terrorist. “It wouldn’t make sense that they’d come for him now. Not after all this time. If that’s all this was, why not come sooner?”

“How long’s he been here?” Tyler asked.

“Almost seven years. Not here, in this facility the entire time, but that’s how long he’s been on Earth.”

Seven years.
Her words hit me like a jolt from Lucy. How much of that time had he spent in that tube?

I wanted to scream, to ask how something like this happened. To find out why they’d kept him like that. But all I could manage was, “How?”

“A crash,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Like at Area 51?” Jett probed. Jett was almost worse
than my dad with his never-ending hunger for conspiracy tales. Probably because he’d lived so many of them firsthand.

Dr. Clarke made a scoffing sound, another dismissal. “Nonsense. Unlike the Area 51 hoax,
this
crash was real. And it was bad.” She said it like her account was firsthand, and I wondered if that was possible. Had she been there seven years ago when Adam had crash-landed? “When we pulled Adam from the wreckage, we were sure he was dead. There was no way he could’ve survived it. It wasn’t until later, when we’d taken him back to our lab that we’d realized he was regenerating. Healing. The same way you Returned can.” She looked around at the four of us. “Seeing it happen with my own eyes was”—she put a hand to her lips, remembering—“
thrilling
.”

“So, if he healed, why’s he still in there?” Tyler asked. “Why not let him leave?”

Dr. Clarke shook her head. “He might have healed after his crash, but something about being here on our planet is killing him.”

“You sure that has nothing to do with being kept in that giant test tube?” I contested.

“We saved him. Without our intervention, he wouldn’t have made it. Besides, even if he could sustain himself outside the tube, he has nowhere to go; his ship was too badly damaged in the crash.”

I wasn’t buying it. Maybe I’d spent too much time on the run from the No-Suchers, aware of what they really wanted with us—all the experiments they had planned.

Or maybe it was just her—Dr. Clarke herself. I couldn’t say for sure whether I trusted her or not. That was the thing, I didn’t know her. And right now, not knowing someone was the same thing as not trusting them in my world. I’d already let myself trust Natty, and look where that had gotten me. I couldn’t afford to blindly trust a total stranger.

Besides, would I want to be kept alive if it meant being trapped in that thing indefinitely?

I looked down at my own hand, remembering the way Adam had responded when I’d touched the glass. It occurred to me how similar he and I were. “If he can’t survive on our planet—outside the tube—then why can we?” She knew the others were Returned, but I sort of assumed she knew Tyler and I weren’t like the rest of them, especially since Adam had only responded to the two of us. “I mean, if they used their DNA to . . .
replace me
, then why aren’t I dying? If anything, what they did made me stronger. Healthier. Right?”

She looked around at us, then specifically at Tyler and me, and I realized she definitely knew our secret. “I wish I had an answer. Maybe it’s because your original bodies—the ones they duplicated—were human, and accustomed to this environment. Maybe they did something
different
to alter you, so you could survive here.” She shrugged. “Or maybe the crash was just too much for him to recover from completely. I wish I had a better answer for you.”

Just another nonexplanation to add to the growing list of complications that made up my life.

Dr. Clarke shifted her gaze nervously as she singled Tyler
and me out from the others. “We also think whatever it is that makes you
different
from everyone else is what allows you to share a bond with Adam. A connection none of the others have. That’s why we think he woke when the two of you were near him.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “We sorta guessed that.”

“Except . . .” She seemed to be weighing how much more to disclose to us, and then nodded to herself. “It wasn’t only Adam that came to life. Something else happened, and we believe it’s all connected—this new signal and the arrival of . . . whatever it is that’s out there.” I gave her a confused look and she added, “Maybe it’s better if I show you.”

We could have been standing in any freight elevator in any warehouse in the entire world, except the security code was longer than my social security number.

And when we descended, it felt like we were sinking to the Earth’s core—that’s how long the trip lasted. After several seconds, my ears began to clog from the pressure.

When the elevator finally came to a shuddering stop, the giant steel doors grated open with the kind of scrape that makes everyone cringe. But the goose bumps were quickly forgotten as we were bathed in a silvery halo of light from a roomful of computers. The enormous space appeared simultaneously space age and low-tech at the exact same time, with floor-to-ceiling industrial grade computer equipment cluttered with more wires and cables and dials than I’d ever seen in one place.

There were several individual terminals stationed throughout the space as well, these ones looking nothing less than the latest and greatest—gleaming chrome, with crystal clear plasma monitors bigger than most televisions.

There were far fewer people down here, but even so, whatever they thought they were tracking had caused enough panic that every eye in the room shot to us the second the elevator doors parted. Dr. Clarke gave a subtle
it’s okay
nod and everyone went back to what they were doing. But the air remained brittle with tension.

At the other end of the chamber, there was a giant window, but the view was blocked by some sort of metal panel.

“I give up,” I said as quietly as I could, trying not to draw any more attention than we already had. “What is this place?”

As the doors behind us closed, another woman started toward us. There was something unusual about the way she walked, but it took until she’d crossed the entire room for me to realize she had an almost, but not entirely, imperceptible limp.

She was young, though. Much closer to our age than to Dr. Clarke’s. Her hair was almost the exact copper color of Simon’s eyes, minus the gold flecks, and it hung in soft waves around her shoulders. Even with the limp, she gave off a cheerleader sort of vibe, reminding me of the girls who’d stood outside the doors to greet the incoming freshmen on our first day of high school, passing out maps of
the hallways and pointing us in the direction of orientation. Super friendly. Super peppy.

“This is Dr. Atkins,” Dr. Clarke introduced her. “I’ll let her explain. This undertaking is her baby.”

“Welcome,” Dr. Atkins gushed, giving us a perky wave that did nothing to chip away at that cheerleader impression. “And, please, call me Molly.” She stepped up to one of the individual computer consoles. “This . . .” She laid her hand flat on the panel, which lit up, outlining her fingers and palm with a green glow. When it was finished, the entire display panel surged to life.

“Handprint identification . . . ,” Jett breathed. “Sweet!”